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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24391684">blood bath</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/closet_monster/pseuds/closet_monster'>closet_monster</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bathing/Washing, Blood, F/M, Light Angst, Mild Gore, Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:00:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,901</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24391684</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/closet_monster/pseuds/closet_monster</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Under a thick blanket of sangria and crimson red blood, Cassian could be found. His hazel eyes, dull and unfeeling, were the only things clean about him. Even his hair, rebel strands falling from the tightly bound bun, was caked with it.</p><p>Damned bat.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Nesta Archeron/Cassian</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>152</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>blood bath</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello. I did something. Had this tiny idea in my mind and wrote around it until it was a whoooole oneshot. Again, it will probably come out a little too out of character for the two of them, but hey, I never promised to be a good writer. So. </p><p>Cassian comes home caked in blood and Nesta takes care of him. That's pretty much it.</p><p>Hope it's a nice little distraction and you like it!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>From where she is curled up on her bed, Nesta can smell the strong scent of blood that comes from outside. It seems to be carried through her window with a sharp zephyr, making an unsettling feeling set on her gut - and judging by it, she doesn't have to look to know that Cassian is the source of it.</p><p>Damned bat.</p><p>There was a long, unnerving list of things that might have explained why the foul, metallic scent clung to him. Her clever, worried mind quickly analyzes about a dozen scenarios as she kicks the covers away, trying to get up. Cassian wasn't given enough credit for his good temper and gods given talent to be reasonable, but there was only so much those two things could do. Whatever happened tonight was either <em> bad </em> or tragic; possibly both, and with every careful step Nesta took towards him, her heart seemed to tighten inside her chest.</p><p>When she hears his footsteps heaving on the front porch, Nesta stops again, heart jumping on a frantic rhythm too violent to be normal.</p><p>She was new and yet, so used to the feeling.</p><p>It had been happening since the day the cauldron spat her back into life begrudgingly. Like an invisible thread knitted <em> him </em> into the very kernel of her existence, linking them together. She could feel his pain, his rage, his murderous calm, his killing trance - and it filled her with worry, sorrow and dread. She didn't like it. She couldn't stand the thought that something bad might have happened; that he was pained and angry, at all.</p><p>Though Nesta didn't want to care too much, she definitely did. Some foreign, unknown, primal part of her urged to take care of him. Something that might not have existed when she was but a woman, Nesta thought. The fae were easily animalistic and often leaned into their primal instincts to go on about life. For one, Nesta was sometimes shocked by how easily her emotions could now overcome her senses. She was but a beast, unconsciously responding to her raw feelings - and they always brought her back to him.</p><p>Cassian seemed to have stopped as well. She <em> felt </em> him deep breathe and the cold feeling on her fingertips as <em> he </em> turned the doorknob around.</p><p>And they were moving again.</p><p>Under a thick blanket of sangria and crimson red blood, Cassian could be found. His hazel eyes, dull and unfeeling, were the only things clean about him. Even his hair, rebel strands falling from the tightly bound bun, was caked with it. And his face, schooled into an empty expression, didn't let much on - what had happened; was he hurt? Probably not. Nesta couldn't feel his wounds, and she normally could. All of that had to be someone else's, the wild patterns and the quantity implying a wide number of ruthless, violent deaths.</p><p>Cassian had killed tonight.</p><p>Not as an execution or a reasonable assassination - he had hunted and ended lives like an animal. The male standing in front of her wasn't the playful dog or the fair illyrian commander; he was Cassian, the murderous monster, Lord of Bloodshed.</p><p>His teeth were red when he opened his mouth; she didn't ask. </p><p>Nesta wasn't afraid of him. He could get rough sometimes, but she would never get hurt. She feared <em> for </em> him, but that was all. So she swallowed the dread and walked to where Cassian's feet were planted on the floor, unmoving. Judging from his dead eyes, talking would be a loss of time, so she only curled her hand around one of his bloody wrists and dragged him upstairs.</p><p>Cassian didn't pull away, though he hardly gave in. His body was alert, muscles locked in tight, blood running hot and angry, senses enhanced - looking for a fight. Looking for one little reason to break and snap again. Cassian could almost see fire erupting from his body and he wanted to be left the fuck alone; he was certain that if the wind whistled the wrong tune, he'd start roaring in response. The only reason why he didn't push Nesta away, though he really wanted to, was because he didn't want to lose control and hurt her in the process.</p><p>So he locked his jaw harder and followed her.</p><p>His - their - home in the Illyria was functional. Not spacious and luxurious, but big enough to be comfortable. He had constructed it with his own hands centuries ago, using wood from their forests and tools from their blacksmiths. The house, much like a cabin, was significantly small, but well planned and built to perfection. It could stand a storm - and for Cassian, that was good enough. It had two bedrooms, one bathroom, one small office where he crumpled shit from work and a good kitchen fused to what was supposed to be a living room.</p><p>Small and simple, but built to accommodate his size.</p><p>Though he couldn't stretch his wings to their full span inside the bathroom, it was big enough so that he could move without bumping into anything; big enough to stand with Nesta, as she quietly undid the laces to his leathers. She undressed him. Cassian made no move to help, but he didn't push either. </p><p>Leaving the clothes forgotten on the floor, Nesta guided him into the bathtub, grabbing a sponge and a handful of washcloths on her way there. She sat in the edge and turned the faucet on, letting the cold water pool around an impassive, kneeling Cassian. The water turned red and impossibly filthy as soon as it hit his body, darkening with each passing second, but she didn't give up on her personal task. Nesta was an obstinate female. She filled a spare bucket just to have some damned clean water to help him actually rinse.</p><p>Nesta wasn't sure about how she had managed to suppress a shudder.</p><p>It was hardly about the gore. It was mostly because Cassian was painfully somber and the darkness pestering his old heart was sipping into hers. The witch caught a glimpse of the murderous rage thundering inside on him. Like a savage entity lay under his skin, quiet and watchful, growing, threatening to take a bite.</p><p>She started with his face.</p><p>Soaking a washcloth with clean water and soap, she took his bloody face and started to wash the dirt away. Cheeks, nose, forehead, jaw, eyes, ears… His expression didn't change; she kept going. It was unnerving to see him so out of character, so troubled, but Nesta bit down her discomfort. Though her chest was tight, this wasn't about her. She wanted that pain gone; and the dirt, hopefully.</p><p>His hands were repulsive. She scrubbed them for twenty minutes to get rid of the excess, just so it was clean enough <em> to wash. </em></p><p>Nesta had learned how to properly do it during the war. She had spent a great deal of time helping the healers to stitch the soldiers together, helping to wash, to bandage - and she had learned the almost peaceful ritual that was to sanitize hands. Taking one of Cassian's hands on her own and dripping soap on his palm, she started to rub him with a soothing massage until they were perfectly clean, nails pristine. Then the other one. Cassian watched quietly, eyes trained on her movements, while she pretended not notice. The water got darker. Darker. And darker. Every time she scrubbed over his chest, his shoulders, his neck; when she poured water over his head, the water got impossibly darker.</p><p>The way Cassian stilled when she touched his hair made her flinch. Nesta was half expecting to be bitten; a reaction that he read easily off her. But she was an obstinate female, as well as stubborn as fuck. And she wanted <em> him </em> back. So defiantly, she pushed her luck and moved her fingers against his head, spreading soap all over his scalp and making even more blood run down his neck and shoulders. The foam on her hands was red and even though they had left the door open, the entire place <em> smelled. </em>The foul scent drowned out all of the soaps and oils that she had helplessly mixed on the water and scrubbed down on his body.</p><p>That was only the first turn, though.</p><p>Nesta drained the water, scrubbing the tub to make it cleaner for the second bath. When she turned the faucet again, the water that rose around him was an almost lovely shade of light pink - and without the excess of filth, Cassian was starting to look like a person. The wild look on his eyes were easier, the muscles on his shoulders didn't look as hard.</p><p>This time around, he was the one to stop the water. He sighed while Nesta carefully massaged his scalp - which, granted, she had done for way longer than what it was actually needed. And he quietly washed himself, slow and careless, completely unashamed by her presence. Nesta pretended not to notice when he touched his cock. And the next thing… During her long months on the mountains, Nesta had learned enough about Illyrians to know that their wings were sacred. Technically, she wasn't supposed to touch them; without his permission, at least. It seemed like a stupid thing to ask, but she didn't want to stop. She wanted to take care of him all the way, cutting it short felt wrong.</p><p>"Can I…" She held a stained washcloth up, tilting her chin to his wings.</p><p>Cassian's expression wasn't hard, but it didn't show her much. Nesta soaked on the small satisfaction that came with not being repressed instantly, still holding up the washcloth.</p><p>"They're bloody inside and out." She explained, trying to build her argument without sounding too righteous. They both knew how much he hated that and the last thing they needed was an argument. "I'm going to be gentle."</p><p>Once again, the commander said nothing. But he took a soaked washcloth himself, stretching his wings within the limits of the bathtub, which Nesta took as a silent permission to go on. He would clean inside and she would take back, on the places he obviously couldn't reach - a mutual agreement. Cassian tensed impossibly harder when she poured the cold water over his wings, getting them wet to adhere the soap; then shuddered with her first, tentative touch to his wings. They were a sensory, marvelous thing: the tendons retracted when her movements were firmer and the membrane shook when her touch was delicate and light.</p><p>Were she a slightly more malicious female, Nesta would have realized those reflexes were a reaction to pleasure. Or that his cock was half hard under the filthy water - but she wasn't looking. Her focus was trained on the dirt splattered over his wings; now, moving to the blood dripping from his sharp talons. It wasn't until she massaged it with soap, letting a curious finger run all the way to the sharp tip, that Nesta realized the reason why it was so bloody.</p><p>Cassian's body was a weapon. Old and trained, the commander knew how to yield himself; that's what Nesta told herself, when his tendons retracted again and the talon slipped from her hands dangerously fast. <em> Cassian had it under control. She wouldn't get get hurt. </em></p><p>He wasn't so sure himself.</p><p>The illyrian had a massive wingspan, of which he was proud and protective off. He hadn't allowed many females to touch them in the past and though he would most definitely grant Nesta that permission, this wasn't exactly the ideal scenario. He had just walked out of a blood bath, his body was still running high on adrenaline, muscles locked in tight, killing power snapping under his skin and pleading to be let out. Or, more accurately, fighting to burst. To touch his wings - or get so close, at all, was as stupid as to poke a dragon with a broom. Though Cassian would never do anything to harm Nesta, an overstimulated body was hardly under control. There was only so much he could do.</p><p>But he did need the help. His wings were filthy and his arms were nearly limp. Raising them to clean the inside of his wings had been an incredibly difficult task already - and Nesta's soft, delicious touch was disarming enough as it was. The sweet ache growing on his cock wasn't making him necessarily stronger. </p><p>She eventually dropped the cloth, picking up the bucket to rinse them - gladly or sadly, he wasn't sure. The sudden cold water on his wings made a great job at <em> softening </em> the arousal away, which was mentally relieving and physically disappointing. If this day had been any different, he would have probably pulled Nesta inside the water the second the first shudder cut through his body; but again, if this day had been any different, maybe she wouldn't be there at all.</p><p>It was a wicked thing to benefit from.</p><p>Cassian was a talented killer. Death was an ancient art that he had mastered from a young age; and somehow, it never got easier. It never felt right, even when he meant the kill (which he usually did). Days like this took too much from him - in part because it mostly brought to surface the enraged beast sleeping under his copper skin. It was both thrilling and tiresome to let it free, then shameful when he was left alone with the results of it.</p><p>Like a broken male, soaked from head to toe in blood that wasn't his.</p><p>He never liked being seen like this. The gruesome filth, death stench, blood dripping from his fingertips and murder lightning his hazel eyes. So much shame sitting on top of his shoulders, threatening to push him into the ground, face down - but her eyes weren't judgemental. Though it was her main ability in business days, Nesta didn't judge his brokenness. Probably because she had dwelled on her own for long enough to understand, he guessed. Regardless, she was there with him, calm and caring, constant, and Cassian allowed himself to deep breathe. He couldn't move; <em> fine, </em> she'd move him. Nesta Archeron was a gods forsaken, stubborn, obstinate woman, and Cassian believed the devil couldn't stand a chance against her even if he bore a spare horn on his head.</p><p>He wouldn't stand on her way. In fact, he had absolutely no intention to.</p><p>The amount of calm and content that Nesta's careful hands brought him as they massaged his body was either sinful or holy. He was completely aware that this bath could have been much shorter: his hair was way past clean at this point and his shoulders weren't <em> that </em> dirty. Neither was his chest or his neck, but he didn't say a word as she kept going over them, brushing, rubbing, massaging, soothing.</p><p>They quietly watched the drain as the still red water disappeared.</p><p>"Another." She declares, earning a humorless chuckle from Cassian.</p><p>They both scrubbed the stained porcelain before turning the faucet on again - and this time, the water around him was pristine. Clear. Nesta's shoulders fell with the sight, pleased, and he almost smiled at her.</p><p>Cassian too was an animal; sometimes a fire drake, sometimes a stray dog. But loyal and protective, unconditionally, watchful of his mate. Her distress pained him. Being at fault pained him. Maybe he shouldn't have come home: maybe he should have dropped into an empty lake or flown all the way to Velaris and asked for Mor's help. But both alternatives made him cringe, in the end. He didn't want to be seen like this by anyone else: their thoughts were too loud and intrusive and he felt uneasy under their eyes. Nesta, however… Cassian couldn't quite name the serenity that washed over him by having her around. How her presence lessened the pressure on his tight chest and made him feel so… <em> Unlonely. </em></p><p>He couldn't resist her care.</p><p>For a third time, she washed him. Slower, softer. Lovingly, filled with so much concern and warmth.</p><p>Cassian could have cried - but he didn't. At this point, it would take hell and a thunderstorm to make him break. Though a horned Nesta, sitting atop a throne of obsidian in her holy nakedness, bearing a trident, wasn't a bad picture, he'd like to hold himself together. But again, he almost slapped himself for referring to her as anything evil. The female who sat beside him, nightgown stained with the blood he had brought inside their home, was nothing besides compassionate and divine.</p><p>He reached out and gripped the front of her nightgown, fingers digging on the dirty cotton fabric. On the process of getting him cleaned, she had gotten herself dirty; a realization that didn't sit well in Cassian's already disturbed mind. And Nesta had never needed many words to understand things. She knew, from the way he clutched her and stared at the blood, eyes wild and breathing uneven, that he wanted it gone. Lost and hopefully burned, along with his bloody leathers and every towel they had in the bathroom. </p><p>Nesta hadn't allowed anyone to see her body in a long time; she had no intentions to let it happen again any time soon. It had changed again. With the training that she had eventually surrendered into, with the food she had managed to get in and keep down, with the lack of alcohol to destroy her from inside out. Her body was of a strong, healthy, powerful female: but it had changed again, nevertheless, and she was still self-conscious of it. She didn't want to be seen and definitely didn't want to be touched - but that's not what <em> that </em> was. Cassian just wanted her cleaned, the same way that she had cleaned him. There was no sex in what they were doing, Nesta told herself, and Cassian would never hurt, never push. </p><p>And honestly, she doubted that he still had any sort of interest in her. As things were, they were friends at best. Though they basically lived together as an old married couple, bickering and taking care of each other, any hope for love was long gone (though it lingered and pestered and choked the two of them, because it was true and it could never fade).</p><p>It shouldn't matter.</p><p>Still sitting on the edge, she shifted her weight on her legs so that they could wrangle the nightgown out of her body. There was an unusual ringing to her ears and she focused on the wall as Cassian gently dabbed the washcloth to her stomach. The water slid down into her undergarments, making it uncomfortably wet and cold, nearly transparent, but she pretended not to notice; Cassian did a great job at doing the same. Though it called his name - her cunt so close to his face, he mostly focused on the way the faint blood was smeared over her skin. He guessed most of it was from when she had started to wash his hands, or maybe his hair.</p><p>He moved onto her thighs, eventually. Her knees, then her arms - and he dragged the washcloth over her cleavage, soaking wet so that the water would drip over the parts he didn't have the audacity to touch.</p><p>Nesta had been bare chested under her nightgown.</p><p>Her breasts were celestial intervention, her body a divine creation. The way her nipples hardened under the cold water didn't go unnoticed, but he kept his mind empty. Cassian felt honored to witness, but unworthy of touching. This wasn't the moment, anyway.</p><p>Cassian was strangely apathetic by the time they were done. Almost catatonic, Nesta thought, as if he had failed some of his progress. She kept her eyes trained on him as she removed her wet underwear; he had buried his head into a towel, rubbing the wet hair carelessly. They both pretended not to know why. Their dirty clothes were left on the floor to be dealt with on the following day, towels thrown in the same pile. Nesta thought that she could still wash them; Cassian wanted them burned. Either way, as they left, naked, Nesta found herself leading him into his bedroom - and when she made to turn, he stopped her.</p><p>The arm intimately crossed over her belly should feel intrusive, overwhelming. Another Nesta, from another time, would have bursted in combustion with the action. Right now, though, she didn't really mind. He could have tapped her shoulder or asked, but the arm around her served as a message, too. Cassian wanted her to stay and she didn't have any wishes to deny it.</p><p>She didn't want to have sex - though she'd probably give it to him if that's what he wanted from her.</p><p>It wasn't.</p><p>Cassian dropped into the left side of the bed, where the position favored his vision of the door. Basic survival instincts, like the good old dog he was. Nesta quietly lied down on the other side, though considering the amount of space his wings took, Cassian was practically lying in the middle of the mattress. They faced each other, eyes intense, but devoid of sex - Nesta breathed out, relieved. Even when he snaked an arm over her waist and pulled her impossibly closer, almost pressed against his chest. She knew that he was only trying to hold her close.</p><p>They were intense.</p><p>Intensity was often mistaken by sexuality, but that was an incredibly shallow misconception. Intensity was in the way their kernels were stripped from filters: both Nesta and Cassian were raw. The truest anything ever got. The clearest anything ever was.</p><p>She fell asleep first. </p><p>Surrounded by Cassian's body and his unrelenting tight grip. The unending warmth emanating from him, like a furnace. He felt nice around her: the way their skin joined and limbs heaved on top on each other. Breathing aligning and hearts beating in unison, composing a soft lullaby, and how she felt so incredibly strong and calm. She felt safe, but not in the way that he could protect her - in a way that she was strong enough to save him. And it brought her peace.</p><p>She fell asleep first, sighing, head nestled on his arm. And Cassian watched over, still assessing his own demons with narrowed eyes. He felt them fade with time, as he allowed her calm to settle into his own body. It was infectious, but in the same way joyous laughter was. A good thing to be taken by. He was new and yet so used to it: the way they were webbed together, how feelings and ideas were always theirs to share.</p><p>Draping his wing over her, Cassian fell asleep. With her body resting calmly inside his hold, breathing, humming; alive. His mate, <em> alive, </em> who wasn't intimidated by any of the filthy aspects of him. Who wasn't scared, disgusted or ashamed. Someone who deemed him lovable, worthy of concern. The no name bastard, breed and raised in mud - Nesta was there for him. In a beautiful, selfless way he had never been there for her.</p><p>When Cassian fell asleep, he too felt strong and calm. Safe. In the way that he knew exactly where he was and knew what to do next. Peace was an incredible taste to have on his lips as deep, dreamless slumber pulled him from the realm of reality.</p><p>Love.</p><p>It could never fade - in fact, it only ever got stronger.</p><p>They had time.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>That's all! I hope it was ok. Let me know if you have any thoughts or an observation!! Also stay safe!!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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